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From	Message
rilke 24-Feb-11, 07:40	A Dream within a dream Edgar Allan Poe. Take this kiss upon the brow.
rilke 14-Jun-11, 10:12	A Red,Red Rose Robert Burns. O my Luve's like a red, red rose That's newly sprung in June O my Love's like a melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune !
rilke 16-Jun-11, 14:32	Walking around Pablo Neruda.
obsteve 21-Jul-11, 15:58	Fire and Ice Some say the world will end in fire; Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice. (Robert Frost)
obsteve 27-Oct-11, 23:40	Here's a cheery one from Ben Johnson Though I am young, and cannot tell Either what Death or Love is well, Yet I have heard they both bear darts, And both do aim at human hearts. And then again, I have been told Love wounds with heat, as Death with cold; So that I fear they do but bring Extremes to touch, and mean one thing. As in a ruin we it call One thing to be blown up, or fall; Or to our end like way may have By a flash of lightning, or a wave; So Love's inflamèd shaft or brand May kill as soon as Death's cold hand; Except Love's fires the virtue have To fright the frost out of the grave.
shamash 28-Oct-11, 00:09	Yevtushenko wrote it about lovers, I think it is about friends: Waiting by Yevgeny Yevtushenko My love will come will fling open her arms and fold me in them, will understand my fears, observe my changes. In from the pouring dark, from the pitch night without stopping to bang the taxi door she’ll run upstairs through the decaying porch burning with love and love’s happiness, she’ll run dripping upstairs, she won’t knock, will take my head in her hands, and when she drops her overcoat on a chair, it will slide to the floor in a blue heap.
rilke 01-Nov-11, 10:55	Poema de Amor by Roque Dalton ( Love poem )
rilke 06-Nov-11, 12:07	For Anne Gregory Never shall a young man Thrown into despair. ( William Butler Yeats)
obsteve 17-Nov-11, 16:45	More TS Eliot -From the last stanza of Little Gidding- We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time. Through the unknown, unremembered gate When the last of earth left to discover Is that which was the beginning; At the source of the longest river The voice of the hidden waterfall And the children in the apple-tree Not known, because not looked for But heard, half-heard, in the stillness Between two waves of the sea. Quick now, here, now, always— A condition of complete simplicity (Costing not less than everything) And all shall be well and All manner of thing shall be well When the tongues of flame are in-folded Into the crowned knot of fire And the fire and the rose are one.
obsteve 26-Nov-11, 10:20	Bright Star Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art - Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like Nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors - No - yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever - or else swoon to death. Keats
rilke 28-Nov-11, 14:56	Cinco de la tarde Federico Garcia Lorca
obsteve 01-Aug-12, 16:21	Where Shall We Go? Waiting for her in the usual bar He finds she's late again. Impatience frets at him, But not the fearful, half-sweet pain he knew So long ago. That cherished perturbation is replaced By styptic irritation And, under that, a cold Dark current of dejection moves That this is so. There was a time when all her failings were Delights he marvelled at: It seemed her clumsiness, Forgetfulness and wild non-sequiturs Could never grow Wearisome, nor would he ever tire Of doting on those small Blemishes that proved Her beauty as the blackbird's gloss affirms The bridal snow. The clock above the bar records her theft Of time he cannot spare; Then suddenly she's here. He stands to welcome and accuse her with A grey 'Hello'. And sees, for one sly instant, in her eyes His own aggrieved dislike Wince back at him before Her smile draws blinds. 'Sorry I'm late,' she says. 'Where shall we go?' (Vernon Scannell)
zombieslayer1 13-Aug-12, 13:47	To an old thread, I must add Pablo Neruda XVII (I do not love you...) I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
shamash 13-Aug-12, 15:02	Pablo Neruda's DEAD WOMAN " If suddenly you do not exist, if suddenly you are not living, I shall go on living. I do not dare, I do not dare to write it, if you die. I shall go on living. Because where a man has no voice, there, my voice. Where blacks are beaten, I can not be dead. When my brothers go to jail I shall go with them. When victory, not my victory but the great victory arrives, even though I am mute I must speak: I shall see it come even though I am blind. No, forgive me. If you are not living, if you, beloved, my love, if you have died, all the leaves will fall on my breast, it will rain upon my soul night and day, the snow will burn my heart, I shall walk with cold and fire and death and snow, my feet will want to march toward where you sleep, but I shall go on living, because you wanted me to be, above all things, untame-able, and, love, because you know that I am not just one man but all men. "
obsteve 28-Mar-13, 03:02	The Tiger TIGER, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand and what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? What dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And water'd heaven with their tears, Did He smile His work to see? Did He who made the lamb make thee? Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? (William Blake)
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